FPE
by NephilimEQ
Summary: Oh, joy. The Firearms Proficiency Exam. Tony is not looking forward to it, and neither is a certain autopsy assistant...but Jimmy Palmer is apparently more than he seems to be. PLEASE READ & REVIEW! Summary sucks, story better. Promise!
1. Chapter 1

**FPE**

**Chapter 1**

Tony glared at the e-mail on the screen, wishing he didn't have to take the stupid test.

The FPE.

The freakin' Firearms Proficiency Exam.

He hadn't done so hot on his previous one and he hadn't had much time to practice since then. He continued to stare at his screen, unaware of the fact that Jimmy Palmer had walked into the bullpen, looking just as nervous and apprehensive as Tony.

Jimmy cleared his throat, and Tony twitched in his chair and looked up in surprise.

"Gah, Palmer! Geez…make more noise when you walk into a room, will you?"

He looked like a wounded puppy as he said, "Sorry. It's just…well, did you get the e-mail? About the…the FPE?" Tony nodded. "Yeah, well…it's my first time taking it, so…I was wondering if you had any advice for me?"

Tony let out a nervous laugh.

"Yeah," he said, drawing out the vowel in a typical Tony way, "I don't think that I'm the person to ask, Jimmy. I'm, uh, not sure if I'm entirely ready for it myself."

Jimmy was surprised at the admission and looked at Tony in shock.

Tony gave him a loose, comfortable smile.

"No one else is in here except for you, Palmer…and you're not the kind to blab." He motioned with a hand to the empty bullpen. "No Ziva, no McGee…no boss man. Just you. And I, uh, you know…consider you a friend. Don't tell _them_ that, though," he added, pointing his thumb to the non-existent team.

Jimmy nodded and then looked back at Tony and then down at the ground.

"Yeah, well…thanks for that." He turned to leave, but then stopped and looked back at Tony and asked, "Tony? Do you ever, uh, have memory loss after shooting at the shooting range?"

At this question, the agent looked perplexed.

"Memory loss?" he repeated, looking at Palmer, trying to figure out what he was asking. "No…why would I have memory loss?"

Suddenly Palmer shook his head and muttered, "No reason," and then hurried out of the bullpen to the elevator, most likely heading back down to autopsy to help Ducky on a case. Jimmy was acting more odd than normal and it disconcerted the older agent…but he shrugged it off and focused instead on his own nervousness, not wanting to be distracted by anyone else's.

He looked back at his computer screen.

And he sighed.

* * *

Today was the day. The day that he was going to have to take his FPE. Oh, joy.

Tony was supposed to be at the firing range at 8:30 that morning, but had decided to show up early, so he was there fifteen minutes before he was expected.

It was a Saturday, so in place of his usual office clothes instead he wore a pair of jeans and long sleeved gray henley with a black sweater over top. His firearm was in its holster on his hip, attached to his belt, and he briefly ran his fingers over it to try and reassure himself.

Curious, he glanced into the shooting range, and was surprised to see Jimmy Palmer, autopsy lab rat, already there, along with the agent who was overseeing the Exam, Agent Paulsen.

Jimmy was wearing black jeans and long sleeved, dark blue jumper, with the hint of a white t-shirt showing beneath the collar.

Feeling too curious for his own good, he cracked the door to the shooting range open slightly and heard the agent say to Palmer, "Now remember…there is no pressure, you can take your time before you want to begin. Just say when we can start and we'll start. When we start, I'll have you shoot off two shots at ten yards and then it will automatically drop the target and a new one will immediately be put up at twenty yards, and then the process will repeat and you'll do it at thirty yards. You merely need to shoot as quickly as you can, as accurately as you can. Okay?"

Jimmy nodded, looking nervous, and said, "Okay. I got it."

Agent Paulsen then nodded again and put a reassuring hand on Palmer's shoulder.

"Good. Just tell me when you're ready to start."

Jimmy nodded again and Tony quietly let the door close. Then Tony watched as Jimmy then reached up and took off his glasses…and he tried not to stare too hard at what he saw.

Who knew how much glasses could hide? When he wore the large lenses, Tony always had this sense that Jimmy was a big puppy who was still feeling awkward in his body and not quite all coordinated or matured quite yet, but with them off…my goodness.

The man had surprisingly sculpted cheekbones, and stunningly bright hazel eyes.

Tony watched as the autopsy technician took a deep breath and then pulled on protective headphones and eye gear.

As he continued to watch, he realized that Jimmy was also already wearing his gun.

Taking his time, he took his position and squared up into his firing lane, legs slightly apart, shoulders back and down, his gaze steady. Tony watched with an expert's appreciative eye as he saw Palmer smoothly reach down and pull out his gun, not even needing to look down, and that was when Tony realized that Palmer shot with his left hand.

He took a few deep breaths, put his gun back into his holster and then nodded at Agent Paulsen.

Already with his protective gear on, he pressed a button on the wall and it started.

Tony watched in amazement as Palmer drew his gun sharply and smoothly and quickly fired off two shots, his arms steady and his gaze focused.

The target went down and the new target came up further down the shooting lane, and Jimmy was already reacting, firing of two more shots. That one went down and then a third one came up and he fired off two more shots, just as easily as the first four, unwavering and solid.

And then a new target came up, not ten feet in front of him, and though Tony wasn't surprised because he knew that they always did that on the first test, he expected to see Jimmy falter and hesitate as pretty much everyone did their first time, but instead was shocked as he didn't even flinch and fired off his last four rounds into the fourth target.

He still stood there for a long time after, his gun still raised, and Tony could see Agent Paulsen was worried as more time passed and Jimmy didn't move.

The agent removed his protective gear and stepped forward, gently putting a hand on Palmer's right upper arm, and suddenly found himself on the ground, his arm pulled up behind him and Jimmy's left arm firmly around his neck, keeping Paulsen pinned on the floor and in a brutal half-nelson.

Tony quickly stepped into the room, interfering.

He quickly pulled off Jimmy's ear coverings and grabbed his shoulders and said, "Jimmy! Jimmy!" but he still didn't react…and then Tony remembered what Palmer had asked him yesterday in the bullpen…

"_Do you ever, uh, have memory loss after shooting at the shooting range?"_

He was in some sort of fugue state and that was why he wasn't reacting. Tony resorted to more drastic measures, and pried Jimmy's surprisingly strong arms off of Agent Paulsen, who immediately started coughing and rubbing his throat, while thanking Tony at the same time.

He didn't notice the thanks, however, as he was too worried about Jimmy.

"Jimmy," he repeated trying to get his attention once more. "Jimmy!"

Finally, he reacted.

He shook his head as though he were waking up and looked at Tony with a very bewildered look.

"Tony? What…what are you doing here?" He then looked around himself and added, "And why am I on the ground?"

Tony gave him a half-smile and tried to make light of the situation.

"Well, you tried to kill Agent Paulsen here by putting him into a half-nelson, so I'm not sure about that passing grade on the Firearms Proficiency…maybe on hand to hand fighting, but, even so, your technique needs a little work…"

The Italian flashed him another smile and helped him back up to his feet, while in the meanwhile Agent Paulsen had recovered enough to go out to retrieve the targets from the range.

He came back to them and, while still absently rubbing his slightly bruised throat, he said, "Well, Agent DiNozzo…I wouldn't say that."

He lifted the targets and smiled.

"Agent Palmer…you have passed with flying colors. Not a single stray shot. You're what's a called a crack-shot. Dead center, each and every time. Good job," he said, patting Jimmy on the shoulder and then leaning down and picking up the empty gun that Palmer had dropped and putting it in his hand. "I won't hold the choking against you. I'm just here to make sure you can still shoot straight."

He then nodded at DiNozzo.

"Be back in here in six minutes for your exam, alright?"

Tony nodded, and then helped Jimmy out of the room, who still seemed shaken up by the whole incident as his hand shook slightly as he slid the now empty gun into its holster. Tony was shaken up as well, but he hid it, not wanting to show his own fear.

As he helped him into a chair, he finally spoke to him, keeping his voice low, his tone filled with genuine concern for the younger man.

"Jimmy, what happened in there?" He said nothing, but Tony gently pushed, knowing that what had happened was dangerous and needed to be addressed. "Jimmy…does this have something to do with what you asked me about the other day? About memory loss?"

He nodded, still not speaking.

They sat there for a while, and then Palmer spoke up.

"I…I started having this happen when I was a kid. My granddad had a farm and whenever I would visit, he would set up cans in the back and show me how to shoot. The first time I shot, I missed the can and instead hit a buck that was in the woods behind it. On accident. And I didn't remember doing it."

He paused and then continued.

"My granddad then told me that it was something that runs in the family. We can sort of…_feel_ the target, but then can't remember it afterwards. He said it was a gift because it kept the bad memories away, and that it made him stronger during the war than anyone else in his unit. He could shoot the enemy and make the terrible calls and never miss a shot, but not have to live with the memory or guilt of having made the shot…" He paused a second time. "…That's why I was afraid to do my test today. I thought I might…hurt someone. Luckily I used all of my bullets…"

Tony nodded, but then asked, "Well, okay, I get that…but what was with tackling Agent Paulsen?"

At that, Jimmy dropped his head.

"Granddad taught me fighting, too, and he said that sometimes after he took his shots he was in a vulnerable state afterwards, so he trained his body to go after anyone who touched him while he was still in his 'haze', as he called it. He taught me to do the same. I guess…I guess mine kicked in when Agent Paulsen touched my arm…"

"The operative word being 'kicked'," Tony muttered under his breath.

He nodded again, but was surprised when Jimmy then asked, "So…who's going to file the report? You or Agent Paulsen?"

"Wait…what? What do you mean, report?"

Jimmy looked at him with wide eyes.

"I _attacked_ a fellow agent, _at_ a shooting range, and could have _seriously_ injured him had you not already been here, Tony! This needs to be reported!"

DiNozzo stared at him, trying to figure out whether the autopsy gremlin was being serious or not. Did he _want_ to get in trouble? Did he want to get punished? It had been an honest to God accident, so why was Jimmy overreacting?

"Uh, Palmer…we're not going to report you. As Agent Paulsen said, it's a Firearms Proficiency Exam…and you passed that with flying colors. Which, by the way, I was _not_ expecting, so now I have a lot to live up to," he added, and was glad to see a faint smile of embarrassed pride cross the young man's lips.

"Thanks, Tony…"

He just shook his head and gave him a smile.

"Anytime, Palmer."

But then Palmer's hesitant smile faltered.

"But I'm dangerous with a gun, and I don't want this to happen to me out in the field. I could hurt someone I know, someone I care about…like you."

Tony nodded, realizing that the younger man was right, but wasn't sure what to do about it. He _could_ report it, but he knew that it would simply cause even more problems for Jimmy when it came to field work. He was brilliant, and to have something like this on his record would only inhibit him.

He honestly didn't know what to do.

And then he had an idea.

"Here's what we're going to do, Palmer…we're going to tell Ducky and we're going to tell Gibbs and the rest of the team. No one else, just them."

Palmer looked panicked at the idea, so Tony quickly explained.

"When it comes to field work, you do the most of it with us, and we usually have the more dangerous cases, so they need to know about this in case something happens and you have to shoot to defend yourself or someone else…"

He nodded, slowly realizing that Tony was right.

"…And now, I'm going to go ahead and take my exam, and then you and I are going to go back to the office and tell everyone, okay?"

Jimmy nodded.

"Thanks, Tony…I mean, really. Thank you."

"Like I said before, Jimmy…anytime."

* * *

**Part 1/?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tony had told Gibbs, who was very disconcerted by the fact, but was hastily reassured by Tony that James Palmer would _not_ be regularly carrying a gun out into the field when he helped Ducky. That being said, Gibbs merely gave Tony a warning glare that said, _He's your problem, now._

Telling the rest of the team went over much better than he'd expected.

"You mean you don't remember when you've shot a weapon?" asked McGee, his eyes focused intently on the autopsy assistant, and Jimmy nodded.

"Yeah. It just…happens. Strange, I know."

At that, Ziva shook her head.

"No, not really. Actually, it is the sign of having _excellent_ marksmanship. You would probably do very well with throwing knives," she added, giving Jimmy a nod of approval, surprising him, Tony and Tim. "Why, we even had a term at Mossad for people who into almost trance-like states whenever they were fighting. We called them _colrho hia_. All seeing."

Jimmy felt very exposed, until Ziva reached over and, uncharacteristically, patted him on the shoulder.

"You will be fine, Jimmy. Do not worry about it so much."

And with that, she went back to her desk.

McGee didn't say anything else, but looked at Ziva's retreating back and then back at Palmer and Tony, his gaze serious. Jimmy felt as though he were under a magnifying glass, and it bothered him, but McGee went back to his computer, leaving him sitting on the edge of Tony's desk feeling at a loss.

He turned to Tony, his expression less tense than it had been and said, "So…that's that, then."

Tony shook his head.

"Abby."

He groaned and rolled his head on his shoulders, not looking forward to the conversation.

"Do I have to?"

Tony just gave him a look, and he nodded, saying, "Yeah. You kinda do, Palmer. Do you realize what she'll do to you if she finds out about this from either Ducky or Gibbs? Or, even worse," he added wincing, "McGee?"

Jimmy nodded, realizing the truth of the agent's words.

"Yeah…I see what you mean. That would be a mess." He glanced over at Tim's desk, and then looked back at Tony. "Want to come with me?" Tony looked about to protest, so he quickly cut him off, saying, "Please, Tony? I don't want to deal with her alone."

He paused, waiting for Tony to say something, but instead he simply nodded and stood from his chair.

"C'mon, Palmer, let's get this over with."

The two of them walked into Abby's lab side by side, both of them hanging by the door until Tony not-so-subtly pushed the autopsy assistant in front of him.

Abby had her back to them, her music turned up, and she had her head tilted to the side, doing a strange contortion. Her lab coat was discarded, laying on the back of her chair, showing off her new black shirt that had red and white skulls patterned along it in horizontal stripes.

Tony, noticing that she hadn't realized that they were in the room, reached over, turned her music down a few decibels, cleared his throat, and she turned around, her head still at the awkward angle, her pigtails askew.

"Jimmy!" she said, hobbling forward on her platform heels. "Thank goodness you're here! My neck is killing me, again. Do you think you could do what you did last time?"

She then stopped in front of him and turned around.

The autopsy assistant looked back at Tony, knowing that the last time he had helped her out that the older agent had head-slapped him for his actions, but Tony simply gestured to him, as if he was saying, _Go on. Get it over with._

Hesitating for a moment, he placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on the base of her neck and slowly eased and maneuvered the muscle back into place.

She let out a long sigh and then rolled her shoulders as Jimmy dropped his hands from them.

"Oh…that's _much_ better. Thanks, Jimmy!" She walked back over to her desk, still hobbling slightly on the heels. "So, what brings you up here this fine Saturday morning? I mean, you aren't usually here on the weekends. I know because that's usually when I eat my lunch down in Autopsy, and you're never there, so why're you here?"

Palmer stuttered as he answered.

"Uh, I-I…I had my Firearms Proficiency-"

"Exam," she finished for him. "That's right…I thought I saw an e-mail about that. Thank god I don't have to do one of those. I mean, I don't mind shooting for ballistics, but I don't think I could cut it in the field, you know? What with my problems with violence. Of course, not consensual violence, but intentional, sadistic violence, you know…God, these new shoes are killing me," she added absently, bending her knees. "But I gotta break them in for next weekend."

She paused and then asked, "Do you think these shoes would go with a leather corset?"

Palmer nodded, wringing his hands, feeling slightly out of sorts as he wasn't in his usual scrubs, but instead in his civilian clothes.

"Yeah…sure. I, I guess."

She suddenly turned around and glared at him.

"You still haven't answered my _other _question, _Jimmy._" She then saw DiNozzo trying to sneak out of the room behind him and said, "And where do you think _you're_ going, Tony?"

He froze and then shrugged his shoulders.

"I, uh…just wanted to see you? Cause…I missed you?"

She smiled and said, "Aww, that's sweet, Tony…but it's not the real reason why you're here. Obviously you two are here to tell me something pretty damn important, and, from the way you two are acting, I'm guessing that I'm the last person to know about it, so spill before I actually get upset about being left out of the loop."

Tony looked slightly panicked, and then stepped forward a half inch and pushed Palmer forward a second time.

"Go ahead, Palmer. Tell her why we're here."

He glared over his shoulder at the Italian, and then looked back at Abby.

"Uh, well, Abby," he started, trying to figure out how to tell her. "I'm going to be out in the field more often and so I had to take the exam. But…there's a problem. You see, whenever I shoot a gun I…well, I kind of…black out."

She just looked at him, raising an eyebrow as though waiting for something more.

"And," he continued, "I don't remember having shot the gun. It's a bit dangerous, so we decided that the team should know…which includes you," he finished, looking nervous, wringing his hands again, but she just stared back him, looking completely nonplussed about the information.

"Oh."

And with that she turned back around and went back to her computer.

"Uh…Abby?"

That was Tony, as he, too, was as confused as the autopsy assistant about Abby's reaction. Tony stepped forward, about to put his hand on her shoulder, when she then said, "Look, Jimmy, it's not really a big deal. You know, one in eighty-thousand people have similar symptoms when shooting a gun. You interrupted my Saturday morning for nothing."

Both Jimmy and Tony gaped, but then Abby turned her head and gave him one of her devious grins.

"…But thanks for fixing my neck for me."

She then pointed to her door.

"You two can go now. I've got important work to do," she said as she turned her music back up to its previous volume and then turned around and went back to her work.

DiNozzo and Palmer shared a look and then left her office, both of them shaking their head slightly at their lab rat's eccentricities. Then Tony, instead of walking into the bullpen, headed straight for the elevator, and Jimmy looked confused.

Tony flashed him a grin.

"The least I could do is buy you lunch," he said, still showing off his dazzlingly white teeth.

"Uh…sure. Sounds great!" he said, quickly stepping into the elevator, quietly thrilled at the fact that someone outside of the coroner was paying attention to him.

Tony pressed the button for the parking garage, and then asked, "So…where to? Any preferences?"

"Uhm…I…I don't…"

Tony immediately interrupted his stuttering, taking over the conversation.

"In that case, I'll take you to this _great_ Italian place that I know! It's this tiny little place, tucked behind a few other restaurants, and they make the _best_ lasagna that you've ever tasted! And the atmosphere…" His gaze turned reminiscent, and Jimmy knew a movie reference was coming on. "…It's like a place where the Godfather would have had all of his finest dinners, with women on either arm, the finest champagne in his glass, wearing Armani suits and ties. A place where only the _finest_ quality of everything could be found…"

He then turned his gaze on Jimmy, gave him another wide grin and said, "But at the most affordable prices you could ever conceive of."

Palmer couldn't help but smile along with him.

"Sounds great…" But then a thought occurred to him. "…but are we, you know…_dressed_ for a place like that?"

Tony waved him off and then ushered Jimmy ahead of him as the elevator doors opened, his fingers just barely caressing his lower back.

"I know the owner, and let's just say that the name DiNozzo carries some weight…you'll love it, Jimmy, I _guarantee_ it."

With that, they walked over to Tony's car and Palmer noticed that he could still feel the spot on his back where Tony had touched it. It was warm, as though his fingers had been pressed directly against his skin, and not against two layers of clothes.

He felt himself flush as he got into the car.

Deciding to ignore it for the time being, he let himself enjoy the fact that he was being doted on by the best looking agent at NCIS.

* * *

**Part 2/?**


End file.
